Hey, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab.
As always, it’s a pleasure to take a break out of even the busiest night’s work to post this column and take a few minutes to read and enjoy it m’self.
Hey Kids! Jon Quixote: Review Midwife here, helping to bring another Talkback League of @$$Holes column into this world. But before we get to this week’s preemie, I’d like to go through our @we$ome @$$ie M@ilbag and put the spotlight on some of the reader feedback that makes it all worthwhile.
ELLIOT K of Grayhavenshire, UK writes:
“Jon. You’ve been working with the TL@ for almost a year now. Tell me, what’s superninja really like?”
Well, Elliot, I’m pleased to say that she’s very nice and a pleasure to work with.
***********
ELLIOT K of Grayhavenshire, UK writes:
“No, Jon. What’s she really like? As a person.”
Well, Elliot, like I said, she’s nice. A great sense of humor, an astute critic, rarely misses her deadlines…
***********
ELLIOT K of Grayhavenshire, UK writes:
“No Jon. I mean what is she REALLY like? How tall is she? Does she have a boyfriend? What’s her shoe size? What sort of flowers should I buy her? Does she paint her toenails, and if so, what color? Does she strike you as particularly litigious?”
Well, Elliot…Brr. Just Brr. Let’s move on.
***********
BIZZARO M of Farrightwingville, MN writes:
“Jon. You’ve been working with the TL@ for almost a year now. Tell me, what’s Village Idiot really like?”
Well, I guess that’s all the time we have for the mailbag today. Now on to the reviews!
Y – THE LAST MAN #10
Written by Brian K. Vaughan
Art by Pia Guerra and Jose Marzan Jr.
Published by DC/Vertigo
A Jon Quixote Review
There are some of you who still don’t read this book. If you aren’t one of them, you can skip this and go straight to the next review, or use the time you would have spent reading it to work on your pitch to Epic (“Okay, how much do we really know about Captain Ultra?). This review is strictly for the people who still haven’t read Y-The Last Man.
Dumbasses.
No, seriously, you’re dumb. Stupid. Pooheads. Luddites. Wait, that doesn’t work. Not luddites, uh…heretics? Doorknobs? Mendicants? Oooh…
Plebeians.
Yeah, that’s right. I called you plebeians. What are you gonna do about it? Cry? Are you gonna cry, plebe? Are you gonna run home to Mommy?
Fuckin’ crybaby plebeian dumbasses. Heh heh.
Okay, you can stop crying now. Here’s what you need to do. You just go out and buy the next issue of Y-The Last Man – it’ll have “Issue 11” on it, right underneath the critic’s blurb. No, it won’t be me, I’m too busy trying to convert the recalcitrant holdouts to come up with cover-worthy critic gush-blurbs like:
THIS COMIC WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!
-Jon Quixote (Ain’t-It-Cool News)
*ahem*
So, you buy the next issue. You can buy this issue if you want, but next issue will start a new story arc, and you’ll be getting this one when you pick up the trade anyway. You buy the next one, and then you read it and then you like it. And then you go out and you buy the next one and you read it and you like it too. Then, repeat. Just like shampoo, although stop when your scalp starts to burn. It’s that simple, and suddenly you don’t have to worry about missing one of the best comics on the stands right now.
Why is this one of the best comics on the stands? I’m not going to tell you why. I’ve done my work. We’ve done our work. We’ve reviewed it, praised it, elaborated on it. I see no good excuse for you not buying this comic. Therefore, if you still refuse, you are obliged to write me at jonquixote@hotmail.com and tell me why you still refuse. Don’t argue. I don’t understand the law either, but apparently that’s the way it works. I’ll post the best responses in a future column – if I get any worth posting. And the very best of those will even win something! Sure, it’ll probably be superninja’s phone number – which, I think, most of you have anyway – or a shitty trade paperback that I don’t want anymore, but it’ll be something! DISCLAIMER: none of this “Well, I bought issue #3 and didn’t like it…” shit. You people are obviously fucked in the head and a lost cause, and I’m trying to save the ones who can still be saved.
Because maybe, if they read it right after reading one of these deconstructionist decompressed pseudo-comic books that are currently all the rage, they might see this big flash of light, rush back to their Double-D pseudo-comic and exclaim, “Holy Hallelujah! I’ve been reading shit!” And then throw the shit away and swear off everything but the good stuff like Y-The Last Man. And, in doing so, realize that This Comic DID Change Their Life!”
What, did you think I was exaggerating? Would I do that?
MYSTIQUE #1
Writer: Brian K. Vaughan
Artist: Jorge Lucas
Publisher: Marvel / Tsunami
Reviewed by Cormorant
MYSTIQUE was my fave comic read of the last week, not so much because it was great (“purty darn good” is more accurate), but because it caught me off guard. I had zero interest in the character or concept, only tried the book a try because of Brian Vaughan’s name, yet walked away thinking, “Shit, that was kinda cool!” This is one of those times when surprise goodness actually out-entertained the expected greatness of other titles, and that’s an experience I like.
Mystique, for you X-newbies out there, is a blue-skinned, shape-changing, mutant lady who used to give the X-Men headaches leading various incarnations of the terrorist Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. She’s also Rogue’s estranged foster mother, potential kinfolk to blue-skinned X-Man, Nightcrawler, and the hinted lesbian lover of fellow “evil” mutant, Destiny. In Bryan Singer’s movie, she was played by the curvalicious Rebecca Romijn-Stamos, who brought an impressive sense of…umm…nudity to the character.
But that’s not important right now. Marvel doesn’t ask readers to worry much about past continuity these days, and while that’s occasionally infuriating, it actually works pretty well in making a book like MYSTIQUE totally approachable. All you need to know is explained within, and that amounts to this: Mystique is an unrepentant mutant spy-bitch, and yes, she’s kinda cute (like a more developed Smurfette). If that sounds like the typical “bad girl” hook, remember that the writer is Brian K. Vaughan, who earned his cred deconstructing gender issues in the post-apocalyptic world of Vertigo’s Y: THE LAST MAN. I wouldn’t say he’s at the top of his game with MYSTIQUE, but even middlin’ Vaughan is pretty good stuff.
The real fun of the first issue of MYSTIQUE is that, like its shape-changing lead, nothing is what it seems. It opens with a red-herring action sequence during which a curvy blond – presumably Mystique – makes a dramatic escape from the Kremlin in Moscow, only to be burned to death by a fire-breathing mutant named Steinbeck. Turns out toast-girl isn’t Mystique after all, which is good, because Vaughan writes a few groaner lines of dialogue during the sequence (are they deliberate action clichés so that the reader is surprised when the book starts getting innovative, or is that being too generous?). Her death’s important, though, because we learn that she was actually a covert agent for the X-Men’s bald bossman, Professor Xavier. Professor X, we learn, is very concerned with having a degree of “deniability” for some politically sensitive missions he has planned, especially in light of his recent outing as a mutant and the now very public image of the X-Men. He hits up former X-Men gadget-smith, Forge, for some help, and Forge understands completely: “…it’s tough to deny a fighter plane filled with public figures wearing big letter X’s on their jackets, huh?”
Of course, Forge thinks Xavier’s approaching him to work as a field agent, but in yet another twist, Xavier reveals that he’s more interested in Forge cooking up a means of tracking Mystique, whose powers are as ideal as you can get for covert missions. He’s supposedly got an offer she can’t refuse, even if he doesn’t expect to truly reform her. In interviews, Vaughan has spoken critically of the trend of taming and reforming female badasses, when no one would ever think of doing the same with male anti-heroes like Wolverine or John Constantine. He plans to avoid that pitfall, and that goes a long way towards making me interested in this book. I was also taken by Vaughan’s James Bond analogy, which didn’t even occur to me while reading the book: Professor X = “M”, Forge = “Q”, and Mystique = Bond. It may sound a little derivative, but the X-Men have always been a covert superhero team, and I find myself excited by the possibilities of a mutant espionage series.
And, by the way, Mystique herself does finally make an appearance, about halfway through the book. I’ll leave that a mystery, suffice to say that Vaughan still has a few more twists up his sleeve before the cliffhanger ending, and some pretty innovative uses of Mystique’s powers. A minor word of warning: this is definitely more of an action/suspense book than either RUNAWAYS or Y: THE LAST MAN, so characterization is a little lightweight. If you go into it knowing that, however, I think you’ll enjoy the ride.
The biggest downside of MYSTIQUE is the art by Jorge Lucas. Lucas isn’t without talent - he draws in a detailed style that has shades of Scott Kolins, does some fantastic architecture and machinery, and has generally strong character designs. Where he falls down is in a certain stiffness to his characters reminiscent of Top Cow art, with the accompanying predilection for T & A. The drapery of clothing on his characters also comes across as weirdly flat. He’s not a deal-killer, though, and I suspect he’ll evolve into a pretty solid artist within a few years.
Final judgment: Marvel’s Tsunami line is impressing me, period, and MYSTIQUE is an excellent new addition. It’s probably as good a “bad girl” comic as you’re ever likely to find, offering up a touch of fantasy sex appeal, but not in the seamy, exploitive tradition of lines like Top Cow and Avatar. Think LA FEMME NIKITA or ALIAS and you’re on the right track. And just for fun, I’m gonna rate the Tsunami line so far: SENTINEL: 8 out of 10; HUMAN TORCH: 6 out of 10; RUNAWAYS: 9 out of 10; and MYSTIQUE: 7 out of 10. I was dubious of the vaguely manga-themed line when it was announced, but the truth is that it’s about as strong a launch as I’ve ever seen.
Addendum: After writing this review, I read the hardcover Vertigo graphic novel, ORBITER (reviewed below), which officially displaces MYSTIQUE as “best read of the week.” The TalkBack League of @$$holes regrets the confusion.
FANTASTIC FOUR #68
Mark Waid: Writer
Mike Wieringo: Artist
Marvel Comics: Publisher
Vroom Socko: Ever Lovin’ Blue Eyed Reviewer.
Simply put, this issue of Fantastic Four is as close to perfection as Marvel can get without resurrecting the bones of Jack Kirby.
Right from the start this issue is a blast, with Ben getting a measure of revenge on Johnny, who’s been holding up the Thing’s paycheck. Revenge comes in the form of a water balloon from six stories up, a good twenty feet in diameter, and with Ben’s face painted on it. Where are Reed and Sue during all of this? They’re off doing energy research in a pocket dimension full of three eyed aliens.
In other words, just a normal day for the FF. That is, until Doom appears before the infant Val Richards. Then all hell breaks loose, literally.
Mark Waid, thank God, has all three factors behind this book running perfectly: the FF-as-family factor, the FF-as-explorers factor, and the Doom-is-the-biggest-badass-motherfucker-in-the-Marvel-Universe factor. Oh lord is Doom the badass in this issue. I’ve been reading comics for over twenty years, but this is the first time I’ve been afraid for the Fantastic Four. I know in my gut that the FF is going to get severely fucked by the time this story wraps up.
Now, there are a few sour notes. There are about three pages that do nothing but rehash not only the issue when Val was born, but the last issue as well. Just this side of too much. As for Doom, his new armor is hideous. He looks like a Creamsicle in a cape, fer crying out loud. Besides, orange-gold and hunter green do not go well together. Seriously, Doom’s armor is the single most intimidating visual to come from the mind of Jack Kirby. Why change it?
Still, this issue was easily the best one Marvel put out last week. Why? Because it’s the most Marvel-like book I’ve seen from them in over ten years. It is a little more grown up, but that Marvel spirit is at its strongest. (I say grown up, mainly because the word Mature at Marvel seems to be short for “Maturity level of a thirteen year old.”) These characters feel like Stan and Jack’s original creations, only a little bit older, a little bit wiser. The Avengers don’t have this vibe. The X-Men definitely don’t have this vibe. Under Waid, the FF does. Sure, in Johnny’s case it’s more wiseass then wise, but still.
It used to be this comic had a blurb on the cover reading “The World’s Greatest Comic Magazine.” Sure, it’s mainly an example of Smilin’ Stan style hyperbole, but in the world of Marvel, it’s accurate. Now, more than ever, this book deserves to have that statement emblazoned atop its cover.
ORBITER (HC)
Writer: Warren Ellis
Artist: Colleen Doran
Publisher: DC Comics / Vertigo
Reviewed by Cormorant
I’ve never been a particular fan of Warren Ellis, though admittedly I’ve only read his more mainstream efforts. THE AUTHORITY ultimately felt like an exercise in hipster violence beneath its WATCHMEN veneer, PLANETARY fumbled a great concept with shallow storytelling, and TRANSMETROPOLITAN…okay I actually like what I’ve read of TRANSMET. So now that the caveats are out of the way, let me say that I was truly impressed with Ellis’s latest, ORBITER, in which he trades in his trademark acerbic cynicism for a rare sense of pure enthusiasm. The topic at hand: space travel, specifically manned space travel. Ellis and ORBITER’s artist, Colleen Doran, are unabashed supporters of this occasionally thorny idea, and in a tale of dark mystery and scientific discovery, they offer an emotional argument in its favor.
ORBITER opens on a dark note, though. It’s been ten years since the space shuttle Venture literally disappeared from Earth orbit, and in the wake of that tragedy, NASA’s been gutted and manned space flight abandoned. Unspoken, but suggested by such visuals as the grimy shantytown that’s sprung up around the defunct Kennedy Space Center, is the fact that America’s fallen into decline too. In light of the real world loss of the space shuttle Columbia on February 1st of this year, Ellis’s premise almost seems like a response, but in fact he began writing the story some three years ago. Eerie coincidences aside, the story nevertheless serves as a response, and a poignant one at that.
Where fantasy clearly diverges from reality is in the return of the space shuttle Venture in a fiery landing that incinerates a goodly number of the shantytown’s inhabitants. Its landing is wholly unexplainable, seemingly impossible after ten years, and only one member of a former seven man crew is even present. Mysteries abound: where’s the rest of the crew? What in the hell is up with the seemingly organic skin that’s covering the shuttle? And how, precisely, did grains of sand from Mars manage to get embedded in the Venture’s wheels? Unfortunately, the one survivor’s certifiably insane and he is not talkin’.
What follows reads a lot like the first half of a Michael Crichton techno-thriller, as a diverse team of specialists sets to investigating the mystery. Ellis kindly avoids the cliffhanger chases that characterize the second half of most Crichton books, for which I’m very grateful, having found that Crichton’s build-ups are inevitably more satisfying than his resolutions. And like Crichton, it’s obvious that Ellis knows what the hell he’s talking about when the techno babble starts flowing, and even kindly explains it to readers through some clever intermediaries (like the military supervisor of the project who doesn’t know squat about space flight). Said military supervisor got on my nerves a few times, as he epitomizes the detached macho bullshit that I usually dislike about Ellis’s characterizations (like when he casually refers to hosing the corpses of children off the shuttle’s wheels). Moments like this actually had me tempted to put ORBITER down several times early on, but I’m glad I stuck around. Very quickly, the mysteries deepen, and Ellis initiates a momentum of scientific discoveries that are truly invigorating to uncover alongside the team.
The team itself is made up of three principles, ala PLANETARY. Unlike PLANETARY, however, they actually get a little fleshing out, especially Terry Marx, the long-haired, young propulsions specialist. He’s a total techno-geek, and like the rest of the trio, a little on the emotionally screwed-up side. He’s also got an enthusiasm for discovery that’s totally infectious when he’s in manic mode, especially with his wide-eyed expressions and a beatific smile courtesy of artist Colleen Doran. I’ve always liked Doran’s artwork, especially on her own comic, the sci-fi/adventure series A DISTANT SOIL. Here she changes her M.O. a bit, trading in her love of design and decorative flourishes in favor of stark realism, heavy shadows, and elaborate machinery. She keeps Ellis’s wild science concepts grounded in a recognizable world, but when she wants the reader to soar, she can do that too, especially in any of the visuals depicting space flight. In particular, her images of the space shuttle are lovingly rendered and dynamic, lending it the same visual weight that a great splash page of Batman might in a superhero comic.
Final judgment: I’m keeping this review short, because ORBITER’s a story best approached with a minimum of knowledge beyond the premise. I can’t claim to be the truly devoted space fan that Ellis and Doran are, but I grew up alongside a brother who absolutely is, and as a result I’ve always been fascinated by the possibilities of space exploration. I figure that’s why even a somewhat flawed movie like CONTACT can give me chills with its “Powers of Ten” opening or John Hurt croaking with a twinkle in his eye, “Wanna take a ride?” Well ORBITER gave me those same chills, and even a few grouses about Ellis’s penchant for nastiness can’t keep me from recommending this wholeheartedly to anyone who’s got a jones for space. In other words, yes, you’re goddamn right it’s worth the twenty-five dollars.
AVENGERS #66
Geoff Johns & Olivier Coipel & Andy Lanning
Edited by Tom Brevoort & Marc Sumerak & Andy Schmidt
Published by Marvel Comics
A Jon Quixote Fan Letter
I’m not going to spend much time reviewing Avengers #66 here. It’s not a bad issue, and I’m interested in seeing where it goes. It feels a little lackadaisically paced, and, when combined with the art – particularly the oh-so drab coloring – and the somewhat wearisome squabbling, it feels a bit like Ultimates-lite. I thought the books had two distinct feels for reasons, but… whatever. I’m pretty indifferent to that, and certainly don’t want to dwell on it.
No, I want to talk about the letters page at the back. And, a while ago, I praised Brevoort et al for putting a letters page in their books. And now I want to talk about the letters themselves.
A fan wrote in and praised the book as “awesome.” The editor – Marc Sumerak – returned the favor and praised the letter as “awesome.” The following letter was a complaint – a mild one, but a complaint nonetheless – who suggested that a Captain America-centric issue should have been published in the pages of Captain America. Sumerak’s response: The fan had a good point.
I read this page and I thought of Stan Lee. And Mark Gruenwald. And a host of others.
As a fan – and that’s all I am – I have to admit to feeling a little alienated by Marvel sometimes. Somebody recently shared with me an excerpt from a message board posting where a certain Marvel executive indirectly trashed a fan’s tastes. I don’t want to get into detail there, but I do want to say that I noticed the effort Sumerak made to treat the fans who took the time to share their thoughts and feelings with respect. And I think it deserves some commendation.
Thank you Tom, and Marc, and Andy and whoever else was involved in that letters page. Thank you for that class. It was most welcome.
THREE STRIKES #1 (of 5)
Writers: Nunzio DeFilippis & Christina Weir
Artist: Brian Hurtt
Publisher: Oni Press
Reviewed by Cormorant
A few weeks back, I gave a shaky review to SKINWALKER, a trade paperback by the same creative team that produced THREE STRIKES. I’m happy to report that THREE STRIKES, a character-driven crime story that eschews the mysticism of SKINWALKER, is a distinct improvement on all fronts. The characters seem stronger, the dialogue sharper, and even the art (blessedly minus the muddy toning of SKINWALKER’s Arthur Dela Cruz) is superior.
Some of my favorite crime stories begin with a minor crime escalating into serious, life-changing circumstances, always seeming to ask the viewer/reader, “Could that have happened to you? How would your life have been changed if you’d given in to temptation?” THREE STRIKES opens with such an act – an earring theft by a former gang-banger looking for a gift for his girlfriend’s birthday. He gets busted leaving the store, confesses, and despite the fact that he’s largely cleaned up his act and is enrolled in college, finds himself in seriously deep shit as a result of a “three strikes” law. Suddenly a potential two year sentence is amped up to a potential twenty-two year sentence, and the kid – Rey Quintana – begins to weigh the possibility of jumping bail and running. It’s not hard to feel sympathy. Rey’s genuinely trying to better himself, wants to do right by his mother and girlfriend, and just made a single, really stupid mistake. DeFilippis and Weir do a fine job of guiding the reader through the in’s and out’s of the legal system as Rey’s attorney makes a few spectacular missteps, and the sense of slowly sinking in quicksand is palpable.
Interwoven with Rey’s story is that of a retired cop named Noah Conway who’s working as a bail enforcement agent. Again, DeFilippis and Weir have done their research, and the little glimpses at how he nails bail-jumpers are fascinating. Conway’s a gruff but likeable S.O.B., estranged from his wife and daughter in the tradition of Robert DeNiro’s bounty hunter in the classic MIDNIGHT RUN. His arguments with his wife have the practiced back-and-forthing of a couple that long ago hit the point of no return, absolutely know it, but can’t help but throw barbs at each other whenever they meet. Conway’s trying to win over his sixteen-year-old daughter, though, even if he has to resort to a pathetic father/daughter trip to the firing range in an attempt to bond. I like him, I like Rey, and since their stories are surely headed for a painful intersection, I’m definitely onboard for the series.
Brian Hurtt handles the art chores, and he’s a growing talent. I liked his run on QUEEN & COUNTRY, thought his SKINWALKER work was hampered only by the weak tone-work of another artist, and now find that he’s shaken off all vestiges of the “beginning artist” to become an accomplished penciller/inker in the tradition of STRAY BULLETS’ David Lapham. It’s a clean-line style with a strong command of layout, perfectly spotted blacks for depth, and a confident line that doesn’t need the crosshatching distractions of so many lesser artists. His characters types are varied, too, with particularly expressive faces. He’s gonna be a major player in years to come.
Final judgment: I have no idea where THREE STRIKES is headed, and that’s a good thing. I do know that the leads are fascinating opposites and the series raises compelling moral questions about the direction that each of their lives has taken. My only gripe is the lettering for the narrative captions, which is a little hard to read, though the lettering in the regular word balloons is just fine. Kinda says something when a lettering pet peeve is the biggest complaint you can muster about a book, doesn’t it? Check it out, folks.
TALES FROM THE CREVICE: BOOKS THAT FELL THROUGH THE CRACK
Special Guest Spelunker – Village Idiot
Okay, here’s a question for all you comic know-it-alls: What was the last, regular, pre-CRISIS Superman story?
Alan Moore’s “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?”
WRONG! You are WRONG, sir!
Sure, “Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?” comprised the last two pre-CRISIS issues of SUPERMAN and ACTION comics, but “Whatever Happened...” was an “Imaginary Tale” (an old school “Elseworlds” story), and not part of regular continuity. No, for the story we’re looking for, we must turn to DC COMICS PRESENTS #97. And God help us. For you see, DCCP #97 is not only the last, regular pre-CRISIS Superman story, it is also one of the most DISTURBING comics I’ve ever read. Especially given the fact that it was a Superman comic. Especially given the fact that it was the LAST Superman comic. Honestly, DCCP #97 is a freaky, freaky trip.
Here are some of the highlights of this story:
* The gruesomely translucent Jor-El trapped in the Phantom Zone.
* The beat poetry stylings of the consciousness of Phantom Zone.
* A comprehensive examination of the worldview of the Phantom Zone executioner.
* Bloody corpses in Faora’s cellophane body bags.
* The mass suicide of a Kryptonian cult, and the cult leader’s subsequent transformation into the Phantom Zone’s own Crypt Keeper.
* The destruction of the Bizarro World amid the all the happy Bizarros. (You see, Bizarros always like the opposite of what we like.)
* The destruction of Mxyzptlk’s 5th dimensional home city (at the hands of Mxyzptlk himself).
* The crash landing of Bizarro’s disembodied-but-still-talking head on to the WGBS news desk while Clark and Lana are giving a newscast. (I swear, I’m not making this up.)
* Superman destroying a massive Kryptonite asteroid heading for the city – an asteroid that turns out to be Argo City.
* The bodies and fragments of Argo City raining down on Metropolis.
* The subsequent destruction of Metropolis from all the bodies and fragments of Argo City raining down on it.
* The Phantom Zone Villain’s destruction of Washington DC, including piercing the Capitol Dome with the Washington Monument.
* Mxy’s last line: “Whatever, I’m finished with you. I’ll never top the look on your face when it started raining corpses...an’ they’ll be diggin’ kryptonite out of the streets of Metropolis for years!”
* The final panel: Superman, a dark figure amid the flaming ruins of Washington DC, with the ominous words “The Ultimate End” written at the bottom.
Nice, eh?
Whereas "Whatever Happened..." seemed to be the gentle closing of the Superman storybook, DCCP #97 seems to be the breaking up all the toys so no one else will get a chance to play with them. Metropolis and Washington take a terrific amount of damage; the Bizarro World, Mxy and the Phantom Zone Criminals are all effectively wiped out. This is severe stuff that would be tough to come back from. But then again, since this was the last issue, they didn’t have to.
Beyond that, the tone of the story seems particularly ethereal and bizarre, like a nightmare. From Jor-El’s tortured fatalism, to the running commentary of the Phantom Zone executioner, to dreamy sentience of the Phantom Zone itself, to the almost casual way the cities are destroyed; the story almost seems to unfold like a stream of consciousness. This is definitely not what you think of when you think of a Superman story.
The issue was written by Steve “Howard the Duck” Gerber (no stranger to the bizarre), and drawn by Rick “currently writing Aquaman” Veitch and Bob Smith. And of course, it was edited by Superman mainstay, Julius Schwarz. I have to wonder what was going through Schwarz’s head with this issue. It is something of a swan song, and even conferred with a degree of official status. But rather than end things with a bang, he decided to let Gerber, Veitch and Smith end things with an uncomfortable cold feeling. Brr. Perhaps Julie’s departure was bittersweet, and this was the bitter. Or perhaps this was just one of the stories he had left.
Regardless, the next time you’re in your local store, and you’re in the mood for something really funky and potentially disturbing, check the back bins for DC COMICS PRESENTS #79: a highlight of the bizarre, and another comic that fell through the crack.
